The platform was a frantic, loud place where the steam from the engines obscured the faces of leaving students. Draconia stood beside her mother, her eyes fixed on the grey stone of the station ceiling. The end of the term had arrived with a jagged, uncomfortable speed. Everything felt different now, though the surface of her life remained as polished as ever. She felt the weight of the secret she carried, a heavy, invisible thing that sat in her chest.
Narcissa stood with perfect, unyielding posture. Her robes were a deep, midnight silk that caught the light of the lamps. She looked as though she had not moved a single inch since the previous term ended. Draconia felt the urge to move, to fidget, to shake the stillness from her limbs. She wanted to run or to hide, but she remained anchored by the social requirement of standing still.
"You look tired, Draconia," Narcissa said, her voice cutting through the din of the shouting crowds.
"I am not tired, Mother. It was a long term," Draconia replied.
"It was a productive term, regardless of what you might feel," Narcissa said.
Greta stood a few paces behind them, watching the way the steam swirled around the ankles of the travelers. The girl looked as though she were guarding a secret of her own, a silent sentinel in the middle of the chaos. Draconia wondered if Greta felt the same strange tension she did, or if she had already processed the aftermath of the arrests and the Ministry's business.
"The train is arriving late," Narcissa observed.
"It is always late," Draconia said.
"It is precisely on time, you are simply impatient," Narcissa said.
The girl felt the sting of the correction, but she did not argue. She knew her mother was right about the timing, even if the feeling of being out of sync with the world was a constant companion. The last few days had been a blur of quiet movements and unspoken understandings. She had been fine for exactly four days, and now the fourth day was ending. The feeling of the forest, the damp moss, and the heat of his skin was still a physical presence in her memory.
"Did you hear about the arrests near the edge of the woods?" Greta asked, stepping closer to the group.
"People are always being arrested for something, Greta," Draconia said.
"It was different this time," Greta insisted.
"It is irrelevant now," Draconia said.
Narcissa turned her head slightly to look at her daughter. The woman's eyes were sharp, scanning Draconia from her neatly pinned hair to the hem of her traveling robes. Draconia felt a sudden, irrational fear that her mother could see through the skin and bone to the messy, unrefined things underneath. She felt as though she were a glass vessel that had been cracked and glued back together, hoping no one would notice the seam.
"The Ministry is making a great deal of noise about the incident," Narcissa said.
"The Ministry always makes a great deal of noise," Draconia said.
"There is a difference between noise and a scandal," Narcissa added.
Draconia looked away, focusing on a group of younger students running toward the platform. They were loud and careless, their joy a sharp contrast to the controlled stillness of her own life. She thought of the way he had looked at her in the forest, the way the dawn had felt cold against her skin while he was warm. She wondered if he was on a train now, heading somewhere else, or if he was still a ghost in her periphery.
"You have a bit of a shadow in your eyes," Narcissa said.
"It is just the light," Draconia said.
"The light is quite consistent today," Narcissa said.
"I am perfectly fine," Draconia said.
The steam billowed forward, a white wall that temporarily separated them from the rest of the world. For a moment, it felt as though they were the only two people in the station. The smell of coal and damp stone filled her lungs, a heavy, grounding scent. She realized she was gripping the handle of her trunk so hard that her knuckles were turning white. She forced her fingers to relax, trying to reclaim her composure.
"You should check your cuffs," Narcissa said, her voice dropping an octave.
Draconia froze as she watched her mother's gaze drop. She had tried to be careful, but the mess of the term had left its mark. There was a smudge of dirt on the edge of her sleeve, a stubborn piece of grass that had survived the scrubbing. It was a tiny, insignificant mark of a moment that had felt like a revolution.
"Is there a problem?" Draconia asked.
"The cuff is slightly disheveled," Narcissa said.
"It was a long walk to the station," Draconia said.
"A Malfoy does not walk as if she has been running through the thicket," Narcissa said.
The accusation was not loud, but it was heavy. Draconia felt the blood rush to her cheeks, though she kept her expression neutral. She knew her mother was not talking about the dirt, but about the way she carried herself. She was talking about the way the girl's eyes had looked when she had stood in the dark, waiting for the truth to break.
"It is just a bit of grass, Mother," Draconia said.
"It is more than that," Narcissa said.
"It is nothing," Draconia insisted.
The train gave a long, mournful whistle, signaling its imminent departure. The crowd began to move with more urgency, the frantic energy of the end of term reaching a crescendo. Draconia felt the urge to turn and walk away, to leave the station and the expectations behind. But she stayed, pinned to the spot by the weight of her name and the watchful eyes of the woman standing before her.
"You are being defensive," Narcissa observed.
"I am not being defensive, you are just being observant," Draconia said.
"There is a difference," Narcissa said.
"There is always a difference with you," Draconia said.
The woman moved a step closer, her hand reaching out with a grace that was both elegant and terrifying. She did not touch Draconia's face, but her fingers moved toward the cuff of the girl's sleeve. She smoothed the fabric, her touch light and precise, yet it felt as though she were rearranging the very structure of Draconia's soul. The dirt remained, a tiny, defiant speck of the world outside.
"Who is he?" Narcissa asked.
"Nobody," Draconia said.
Narcissa smiled at a spot three inches above her head.